


Intermission

by GreenBird



Series: Volsung [2]
Category: Django Unchained (2012)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenBird/pseuds/GreenBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-“Come on,” King says, keeping his voice low. He is worried about eavesdropping, but he can see that Django is on edge. “She’ll be here in an hour. Come rest.”-</p>
<p>Missing scene in King's room at Candieland, as he and Django wait for Brunhilde. General fluff peppered with kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intermission

**Author's Note:**

> For Bitta. I can't believe you told your boyfriend I write Django porn. Traitor.
> 
>  
> 
> This is sort of a continuation of "Lee" - as it makes more sense with "Lee" read first, but it's not required.
> 
> I don't know why I always write these two cuddling, but I always write this two cuddling. I know Django's pretty stable with his emotions, but I'd like think he's a bit of a wreck where Hildie's involved.

 

Intermission

* * *

 

The guest rooms Candie prepares for them are very nice; they have feather beds, attractive decorations and are well kept. They share a washroom with lovely polished fixtures and a claw footed tub. It’s lavish compared to their usual accommodations.

 

King lets his hosts know he plans a brief wash before his company arrives, and he should not be interrupted within the hour. Once left by himself, he strips his jacket and immediately heads to the washroom to clean his face. Next door, he hears Steven grudgingly showing Django his room, and the two exchange unpleasantries for a minute before the door is sharply closed. He hears Django slide the lock in place.

 

The next moment, he’s in the washroom, too.

 

King glances up from where he’s bent over the counter, face dripping. He splashes himself once more before straightening up and reaching for a towel.

 

“She’ll be comin soon?” Django whispers. His voice is shaking. King smiles at him over his towel.

 

“Yes, my boy.” He stands aside, gesturing to the basin. “Better clean up.”

 

Django nods, perhaps a little numbly, and leans over to scrub at his face. After a few splashes he stays there, arms propping him up on the counter. King hears the rattle in his breath.

 

“Come on,” he urges, pulling Django upright. He dries his face for him, and is a little surprised Django allows it. “We’re almost there.”

 

“They had her in that hot box. They had her cookin for runnin off.”

 

“She’s out of there, now. She’ll never suffer something like that again,” he consoles. He had seen Django reach for his gun on the steps. The stakes were too high for them to lose their heads. “At least we know she’s got fight left in her.”

 

Django nods. “She ain’t the type to give in.”

 

“I am excited to meet her.”

 

For the first time in days, Django smiles at him. King can’t help but beam back. Django had been working hard on his character the past week, and the hard-eyed, grim-faced slaver he adopted is increasingly unsettling to King. He is happy for the intermission.

 

“Come on,” King says, keeping his voice low. He is worried about eavesdropping, but he can see that Django is on edge. “She’ll be here in an hour. Come rest.”

 

Django follows King into his room, barely looks about before sitting on his bed. King busies himself with the buttons on his vest. Django pauses a moment and followed suit with his jacket, tossing it on the bench at the foot of the bed.

 

King turns to his companion and tips his head. They’ve grown accustomed to each other’s gestures, know how to read each other’s facial expressions by now, and Django nods and shifts back, letting King into his own bed. They lay down side-by-side, King under the covers and Django across his bedspread. Their elbows and thighs touch. After a moment, King works his arm around his companion’s shoulders and pulls him in.

 

“It’s going to work, Django,” he whispers. “We’ve rehearsed this. It’s going to be just fine.”

 

“I know.”

 

“She is going to be so happy to see you.”

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, turns his face into King’s neck. His breath is a welcome warmth against the doctor’s skin.

 

King turns and presses his lips to the top of Django’s head, murmuring into his hair. “You’ll need to let me speak to her first, before you see her.” Django’s hair smells like sweat and dust: the smell of the road. King can’t help but savor it. “She needs to know what’s going on.”

 

Django’s lips move against his neck. “You’ll tell her in German, then?”

 

“Yes. Hopefully she’ll be able to understand me. We don’t want her crying and screaming in joy from the sight of you, it will alarm our hosts.”

 

He can feel Django’s chuckle in his ribs. “I’ll hide in the bathroom,” he says. ‘You knock on that post and I’ll open the door.”

 

King smiles. Of course Django would want a dramatic entrance. He was turning into a regular thespian. “Romantic. Yes, absolutely.”

 

Django leans back to look at him. His eyes show some worry, but more than that, they are filled with hope. King wonders if he looks the same. Before he can stare at him further, Django leans in and presses their lips together. Their beards rasp at the gentle contact, and King can’t help but make a happy noise into the kiss.

 

“Thank you,” Django says, bumping their noses together. King snorts in amusement.

 

“No need. This is my duty and my pleasure. I am overjoyed to help.”

 

“You’ll love her.”

 

“Yes.” King smiles, squeezing Django’s shoulders. “If you love her, no doubt I will be stunned by her.”

 

Django seems to be pleased by the thought, and leans in again, kissing him a little more firmly. His hand snakes around King’s side, running strong fingers over his ribs, under the sheets to his hip. Their kisses turn hot and eager, and King breaks away only to have Django’s mouth fall to nip at his ear. King stifles a tiny gasp at the heat flickering in his belly.

 

“Now is not the time,” he hisses, halfheartedly pulling away from his partner’s lips. Django is not so easily disturbed, and chases him. “You’ll waste all your kisses on me.”

 

“I’ll have plenty for the two of you.”

 

It’s unlikely. King’s sure that when Hildie comes in he’ll be forgotten, shut out. It’s unusual, to have a two lovers. It was presumptuous to think Hildie would welcome a white man into her marriage. A fantasy, surely. When they are done and free of this place, King knew his odds. He had had a wonderful time, but it was ending when he opened that door. He didn’t have it in him to be bitter. His goal, first and foremost, is to free Brunhilda and reunite her with Django. His place is wherever he falls.

 

Django pulls away, dark eyes catching his own. King knows how well his companion can read him, and hopes he can’t see the small spark of sadness there. When Django kisses him a bit harder, he knows he’s failed.

 

“Don’t,” Django mutters against his lips. “You ain’t leavin. You swore.”

 

King doesn’t remember an oath, but he did say he’d give it a try. He’d help them find a place to call home, a place to be free from their pasts. He just wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to fit into all of that.

 

He did say he’d try.

 

“You’re right,” he amends, attempting to shrug the feeling away.

 

Django’s eyes turn fierce. “We’re leavin here together. We’re getting Hildie and we’re getting free. You’re comin with me.”

 

King nearly shivers under his companion’s glare. Django doesn’t leave room for doubt; he won’t allow it. They’re so close to success. It’s going to work. It has to.

 

“Yes,” King promises, “yes I am.”

 

Suddenly, they hear the far off cadence of footsteps on the stairs, and Django’s hand tightens against King’s waist.

 

“Here she comes,” King whispers, pushing them up into a seated position. “Let’s get you hid.”

 

Django grabs his jacket and hat, throwing them on. King chuckles at his need for showmanship, but can’t blame him; he does look a sight all dressed up. King follows him to the washroom and smoothes out his sleeves for him.

 

“As planned, alright?”

 

Django licks his lips, nods fervently, his eyes jerking over to the door.

 

“Shh,” King sooths, running his thumb along Django’s cheek, brushing over the burn under his eye, “everything will be fine. She’ll be so happy.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes. The footsteps are just down the hall, but Django’s eyes are no longer on the door, they’re on King instead. King smiles at him, squeezes his shoulder. Django ducks down and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

 

King hums happily and steps back. Their time is up. “Listen for the signal,” he says, and gently closes the door.

 

He meanders across the room slowly, waiting for his guests to announce themselves. The knock creates a frisson in his stomach.

 

He answers the door.

 

Candie’s sister is irrelevant, a shallow woman with a false smiles and dead eyes. He can barely stand to look at her.

 

Brunhilda, however.

 

Brunhilda is most certainly Wotan’s daughter. She is stunning. He can barely contain formalities as she’s presented to him, distrust shining in her eyes.

 

She thinks he’ll hurt her, but no one will ever hurt her again. They won’t allow it. She’s coming with them.

 

King lets her inside, and shuts out the rest.


End file.
